


Day's Light

by altering



Series: In Light and Shadow [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Adventure & Romance, Body Worship, Canon-Typical Violence, Devotion, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Nipple Play, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, mentioned Sylvix, mentioned byhardt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:35:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28704513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/altering/pseuds/altering
Summary: Having spent the winter plotting their self-appointed mission to Enbarr, Linhardt and Sylvain begin their journey for Adrestia.They never expected their crusade to be an easy one. Even so, they encounter trials and tribulations that test their own wills, as well as the strength of their bond. The fire of vengeance burns bright within one, while the flame is dwindles in the other. One has only recently mended the wounds on his heart, while the other is given new grief to endure.They have no resources, no family or friends to support their efforts. Only each other.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Linhardt von Hevring
Series: In Light and Shadow [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2104074
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	Day's Light

“Your hair has gotten so long.”

Linhardt almost jumped at the sound of Sylvain’s voice. He’d been so consumed by the work in front of him that he hadn’t heard his partner enter their room. He sat cross-legged on the bed, maps and tomes spread before him as if he were the centerpiece of some ritualistic altar. Sylvain joined him, seating himself at Linhardt’s side and raking his fingers through his hair while he observed the pages and books laid in front of them.

“It hasn’t been cut since the summer,” Linhardt replied, relaxing as the knight combed his locks that now extended past his shoulder blades.

“Want me to trim it for you?”

“With what, your lance?” Linhardt scoffed, unable to tell if Sylvain was serious or not. “No thank you. Besides, it’s not bothering me much. Though I’m sure that will change when the weather gets warmer.”

It wouldn’t be long now. Months had passed since the two of them had decided to undertake their insane mission. Already they were in the latter half of the Pegasus Moon. The snowfalls that were once an almost-daily occurrence were becoming lighter and more infrequent, though the perpetual white blanket on the ground had shown no signs of thawing. Even so, spring was fast approaching, and with it would come what Linhardt had been dreading—departure. The point of no return.

“It’s going to be hard to leave this place,” Sylvain said distantly, winding his arms around Linhardt. “So many memories in this building alone...it was just starting to feel like home.”

“We don’t _have_ to leave,” Linhardt reminded him gently, and he felt the knight’s chest heave with soft laughter.

“Nice try, Lin. We can’t exactly stay though, can we? There’s no permanent residences available in town and neither of us can afford to keep renting this place for much longer.”

“A fair point,” Linhardt sighed, returning his attention to the maps and books scattered on the bed. “Which reminds me, we’ve got to figure out a way to add to our funds before we go. I doubt we’d be able to make it past Fhirdiad on what we’ve got now.”

He leaned forward to hunch over a book, to Sylvain’s unspoken frustration. It was no secret that the mage had grown increasingly restless as springtime drew nearer. Sylvain would often wake in the middle of the night to the faint glow of candlelight, and see Linhardt seated at the desk with something open in front of him. Sometimes he would be asleep with his head pillowed by loose papers or the pages of a book, in which case Sylvain would retrieve him, but more often than not Linhardt would be upright and immersed in whatever he was reading.

 _He’s going to work himself past the point of exhaustion and straight to death_ , Sylvain thought, frowning as Linhardt loomed over his materials. In an attempt to gain his attention, Sylvain ran his hand up the ridge of his partner’s spine.

“Lin,” he said, when the action alone failed to draw Linhardt away. Still, the younger man did not respond, and Sylvain’s frown deepened. “Hey...Linhardt.”

The insistence in his voice pierced through the mage’s focus, and he finally turned to meet the dismayed eyes of his companion. With his face fully visible, Sylvain could see the pockets of darkness beginning to form beneath his partner’s eyes, made more apparent by the waxy pallor of his skin.

“Goddess, look at you,” Sylvain said, worried but no less loving. “When was the last time you let yourself sleep through the night?”

“I get plenty of sleep,” Linhardt claimed, not answering the question.

“I don’t buy that for a second,” Sylvain replied, stroking Linhardt’s back again. “The stress is killing you, isn’t it?”

Linhardt narrowed his eyes, unwilling to confess the truth—that his nerves refused to let him rest, or that every second he wasn’t being productive filled him with a guilt that was almost nauseating. As much as he loathed exerting himself, he loathed that feeling far more.

“I assure you, I’m fine,” Linhardt said steadily, returning to his reading. “I told you that this was going to require careful planning. I’m just pulling my weight.”

 _More like you’re pulling yourself apart_ , Sylvain corrected him silently. He watched Linhardt while his partner determinedly avoided his gaze, a curtain of hair shielding his face from view. Sylvain swept it away, tucking the long strands behind Linhardt’s ear.

“Lin,” he repeated softly. Linhardt exhaled through his nose, closing his eyes briefly before reopening them to meet Sylvain’s. The older man turned his body around so that they fully faced one another, and Linhardt did not have it in him to protest the action. “You can’t keep going like this. You really ought to cut yourself some slack.”

He cupped Linhardt’s face in his hands and pressed a kiss to each of his darkened eyes, feeling his partner relax in his hold. “Sometimes I get the feeling that you still think you’re in this alone,” Sylvain purred, his kisses gradually lowering on Linhardt’s face until their lips met. “You’re not, though. You have me now. We’re a team, you and I...you've got another set of shoulders to help you carry your burdens.”

Linhardt hummed in acknowledgement, though he was becoming increasingly distracted as Sylvain’s hands ran downward from his cheeks, to his neck, to his chest, until finally they ventured beneath the hem of his shirt. His fingertips just barely met the skin of Linhardt’s abdomen—sneakily, teasingly, just enough to make goosebumps rise from Linhardt’s skin. Sylvain kissed him again, deeper now, his tongue easily slipping past his pliant lips. Linhardt accepted him, one hand grasping the back of Sylvain’s neck while the other found purchase in his hair. Linhardt felt his lover smile against him, as if satisfied by his eagerness to reciprocate his affections.

“You’re trying to distract me,” Linhardt grumbled when Sylvain gave him a moment to breathe, though their foreheads remained pressed together.

“I would never,” Sylvain said with mock-innocence.

“Yeah, right…”

Linhardt made a move this time, capturing Sylvain’s lips and soundlessly urging him on. Sylvain exhaled hard, his hands disappearing under Linhardt’s shirt to explore his bare stomach. The mage arched into his touch, and Sylvain took it as encouragement. He mapped every inch of Linhardt’s abdomen, silently marvelling at how soft his skin felt against his own chapped hands. He paused as he reached Linhardt’s ribs, unable to ignore how they seemed to protrude more than usual. Linhardt had never had much meat on his bones to begin with, but now he felt like he might be withering.

As if he could read his thoughts, Linhardt surrendered his grip on Sylvain’s head to hold his wrists instead.

“I’m fine,” he whispered, guiding his partner’s hands down and away from his ribcage. “Don’t worry...just keep touching me.”

 _Who’s trying to distract who now?_ Sylvain quipped silently, but he obeyed nonetheless.

He let Linhardt drag his hands to the waistline of his pants, then backward. The Adrestian let go of his wrists, and Sylvain lingered at the tail of Linhardt’s spine for a moment before daring to dip beneath his trousers. He felt the plump mounds of his ass and kneaded them with loving, but firm hands. Linhardt sighed and the warmth of his breath met Sylvain’s neck, causing the erection he already had to twitch in his pants. He groaned quietly, digging his fingers into Linhardt’s rear just a bit harder—just hard enough to pull a strangled noise from his throat.

“ _Yes_ ,” he breathed, undulating against his partner as he sought closer contact. His slender hands slipped underneath Sylvain’s shirt and ran up his abs, with much less tact than the knight had employed when feeling Linhardt.

The fabric bunched over his newly exposed chest as Linhardt halted on Sylvain’s ample bosom, and he could feel his partner looking at him with avid, expectant eyes. Delicately, he traced the shape of his pectorals, beginning from their underside and framing them with his fingers. Sylvain made a sound—something between a laugh and a groan—and he inflated his lungs to bare himself further. Linhardt took his hint, groping the larger man’s chest experimentally and finding that it was surprisingly soft. He rubbed and squeezed, enjoying the slight give of Sylvain’s skin as he did.

Sylvain’s breathing became steadily heavier while he watched Linhardt work his pecs with the same mindful movements as a baker working their dough. He seemed to be studying Sylvain; gauging his reactions and modifying his actions accordingly until he settled into a cycle of motions that had Sylvain nearly panting.

“Goddess,” he hissed, “you’re so good.”

Linhardt hummed in acknowledgement, but his eyes appeared contemplative. He leaned forward, and for a single second Sylvain felt his breath on his breast. He was thinking about how good it felt when it was replaced by something else. Linhardt closed his mouth around Sylvain’s nipple, his fingers still squeezing and rubbing and pinching. The unexpected rush of pleasure nearly bowled Sylvain over, and his nails dug into the tender flesh of Linhardt’s ass as if to hold him in place.

“Oh _fuck_ –!” Sylvain cried, bordering on a whine. Linhardt mewled against him, the vibrations of his voice only amplifying the sensations wracking Sylvain’s body.

He could hardly keep himself from mercilessly rutting against the mage, as his pants began to feel unbearably tight. He could feel Linhardt, too, straining against his trousers, though he seemed too preoccupied to care. He sucked hard on Sylvain’s nipple, and the knight couldn’t stop himself from abruptly thrusting against his partner. One of his hands abandoned Linhardt’s rear to grab a fistful of his hair and hold him tighter to where he was latched onto Sylvain’s pec, and heard the younger man yip in surprise.

“Sorry,” he rumbled, hips bucking again at the feeling of Linhardt’s vocalization. “I’m sorry, it’s just...so good...you’re so fucking good, Lin.”

As if in affirmation, Linhardt’s tongue rolled over Sylvain’s sensitized nub, quickly followed by the hard graze of his teeth. Sylvain barely noticed when one of his partner’s hands fell between them and began working to free the knight from the confines of his pants. Linhardt pulled out his cock without much struggle, and his nimble fingers wrapped around his shaft. Sylvain squeezed his eyes shut, shivering as Linhardt stroked him slowly and torturously. He felt teeth just barely clamp on his nipple, and he reflexively tightened his grasp on Linhardt and thrust into his hand. He could have sworn that he felt his partner grin against him, but the hand on his length began pumping him harder before he could be sure.

“Damn it,” he groaned, his legs spasming as he fought to restrain himself, “you’re kind of a tease, you know that?”

In an act of obstinacy, Linhardt slowed his hand to almost— _almost_ —a stop on Sylvain’s erection, his thumb drawing circles on his tip as he nibbled again on his chest. Sylvain groaned again, louder, and suddenly felt incapable of supporting the weight of his own head. He let it rest on Linhardt’s shoulder, bucking his hips pitifully and struggling to breathe.

Linhardt was honestly stunned at how much he enjoyed this display; seeing Sylvain, who was usually so smug and (at times) obnoxious, reduced to such a state brought him amazing satisfaction. Maybe he was experiencing a bit of a power trip, but he was inclined to let his partner wriggle and plead just a little while longer. He released Sylvain from his mouth, instead nipping at the rim of the redhead’s ear.

“Do you want to fuck me?” he whispered, his voice unbelievably sweet and demure despite the profanity. Sylvain nodded against him.

Linhardt kissed his lover below the earlobe in a gesture of comfort before momentarily separating to remove his trousers and retrieve the lubricant from the nightstand. He re-situated himself on Sylvain’s lap, already slicking his middle and ring fingers and setting the vial aside. He brought them to his rear, prodding and pressing into himself while Sylvain observed hungrily. The knight’s hands balled into fists as he resisted the urge to stroke himself, certain that doing so would cause him to climax in a matter of seconds. He bit down on his lower lip, twitching eagerly while he watched his partner finger himself; while he watched his hips swivel and sway, while he watched his lips part as he drew deep breaths, and while his eyes stared back at him from beneath heavy lids.

Linhardt pulled his fingers away after a minute more, his own impatience getting the better of him. He straddled over Sylvain’s cock for a moment, lining him up before gradually lowering himself. Linhardt held eye contact, though his brows did furrow slightly, while Sylvain ran his hands up his partner’s legs until he reached his waist. Linhardt’s warmth encompassed him slowly, and his walls seemed to clench tighter the deeper he sank. When Sylvain was fully sheathed inside him, Linhardt exhaled a breath he’d been storing in his lungs, and grasped the other man’s shoulders for support. Sylvain kissed him between the eyes, lingering while he tried to regulate his own breathing that had suddenly become erratic.

Linhardt did not let him regain full clarity. He hoisted himself almost completely off of Sylvain, holding himself on his tip despite how his thighs quivered with the effort. Sylvain expressed a low, almost guttural sound as he gripped Linhardt’s slim waist so hard that he feared he might unintentionally bruise him.

“Goddess, Linhardt,” he said through gritted teeth, “Quit toying with me…”

The Adrestian looked down at him, revealing only composure in spite of the thrill that tickled the base of his spine. He said nothing. He only maintained their eye-contact as he once more lowered himself onto Sylvain, slowly taking him inch by painstaking inch. Sylvain looked as if he wanted to collapse in on himself, unable to stifle a tortured moan as Linhardt bottomed out and sat unmoving on his cock.

“Lin!” Sylvain begged, sounding like he might begin to sob at any second while every one of his muscles seemed to tighten his body into one rigid knot. “Please…! Do something—anything—just ride me already–!” Just as he uttered the last word, Linhardt rocked his hips against him, sending a bolt of pleasure shooting through Sylvain’s body. It wasn’t nearly enough to quench him, but it was a start.

“Why do I have to do all the work?” Linhardt said with a sulky façade, draping his arms around Sylvain’s neck and pulling his chest flush with his partner’s. “Wasn’t your intention to distract me from such exhausting things? Putting so much pressure on me now...you’re mean, Sylvain.”

Sylvain’s eyes moved over his features in a lust-filled haze. _Not as mean as you_ , he wanted to say, but Linhardt was already lifting himself up again. He did not linger at Sylvain’s head this time, instead bouncing himself on Sylvain’s cock and punctuating each movement with a soft, breathy whine. He began slowly, but Sylvain could not be satisfied with the pace. He felt the threads of his self-control snapping, and his hips bucked eagerly into Linhardt despite his best efforts to restrain himself. His fingers indented the skin of Linhardt’s waist as he pounded into him harder and faster than before. Linhardt’s head fell backward as he was struck deeper, and Sylvain was unable to resist claiming the newly exposed area. He lunged forward, kissing and sucking at the vulnerable flesh and feeling the vibrations of Linhardt’s vocal chords against his lips.

Already, Sylvain felt his belly tightening with the anticipation of orgasm. His hands fell from Linhardt’s waist to his thighs, pinning his partner on his cock as he thrust into him with quick, spastic movements. He felt the mage clenching around him as his own climax neared, but the minute change in pressure was more than Sylvain could take. He muffled a cry against Linhardt’s throat as he came, hips forcing him somehow deeper inside his partner.

He took huge, gulping breaths, finding that the room around him seemed to be spinning. He felt Linhardt’s chest heaving against him and his body trembled at the sudden lack of stimulation. He squirmed wanly against Sylvain as he sought relief; any slight touch or friction that might push him over the edge on which he now teetered. Sylvain thought about leaving him there as payback for the way Linhardt had tormented him earlier, but the notes of distress in the small sounds he made weakened his resolve. Besides, he was still unsated himself.

Sylvain rolled so that Linhardt laid beneath him, the younger man’s arms still wrapped around his neck. He hooked Linhardt’s legs over his shoulders, and kissed him deeply in an effort to both calm and reassure him.

“So pretty,” Sylvain praised him between kisses, moving his hand between their bodies to stroke Linhardt’s erection. “You want me to keep going?”

Linhardt nodded.

“D’you want it harder?”

He nodded again, a bit more fervently this time.

Sylvain was happy to oblige. He thrust into Linhardt again, wasting no time as he resumed his rapid pace. Linhardt’s arms vanished from his neck as he attempted to brace himself by clutching the sheets beside his head and screwing his eyes shut. His body cried out at the onslaught of sensations, still tender from nearly climaxing just a minute before. The needy, pitiful noises he emitted only served to intoxicate Sylvain. The hand that pumped Linhardt quickly fell out of sync with his hips as his itch for release grew more and more overpowering.

Linhardt didn’t seem to mind. He’d turned his head to bite the fabric that clothed his shoulder as he felt pressure continuing to build in his core. He arched his back, trying desperately to reach the climax that was nearly within his grasp—that he needed so badly.

The way he moved, twisting and writhing around his length, sent Sylvain’s mind spiraling. He hunkered over Linhardt, nuzzling his cheek in a nonverbal request for his attention. Linhardt complied, turning his head and kissing Sylvain in a graceless meeting of lips and tongue. Sloppy as it was, it was perfect, Sylvain thought. Every kiss with Linhardt was perfect. _Linhardt_ was perfect. Sylvain told him as much as he crumbled into a stupid, babbling mess when he felt Linhardt tightening around him on the verge of release.

“Cum with me,” he coaxed genty, if not a bit urgently. “Break with me, Lin.”

Whatever advantage Linhardt once held over the knight had vanished without a trace as he succumbed to the low, potent rumble of Sylvain’s voice. He let the sound carry him away, and the tension stored inside him broke with such intensity that Linhardt’s consciousness seemed to fade for a moment. He came just as he felt Sylvain’s hips stutter, and his partner simultaneously released inside him again. They rode out their orgasms together, Sylvain rolling his hips lazily in an effort to prolong the high and Linhardt shivering with overstimulation each time he did.

Thoroughly exhausted, Sylvain pulled out, stripping off his shirt and cleaning the seed that leaked in his absence as well as where Linhardt had spilled on himself. Tossing the garment away, he promptly collapsed, falling forward onto the smaller man and forcing the air from his lungs in an audible “ _oof_ ”. Despite how meager his body appeared, Sylvain found that he was all too comfortable. Linhardt couldn’t sympathize as he slowly suffocated under his partner’s weight.

“Sylvain,” he said, weakly tapping the other’s shoulder. “You’re too heavy.”

Sylvain murmured an apology and slid further down Linhardt’s body so that his head rested just under the mage’s chin. His ability to breathe restored, Linhardt contented himself by combing his fingers through his lover’s kinked red hair.

“You’d better sleep like the dead after all that,” Sylvain said, groggy and only half-joking, “otherwise, I think I’ll be offended.”

Linhardt sounded an acknowledgement, but could supply no better response. Although his body was inarguably drained, his mind was somehow more wired than before. Even as Sylvain began to doze peacefully on his chest, Linhardt laid awake and preoccupied.

Something nagged at his brain and repelled the sleep he so direly needed—something he had trouble accounting for. He was drawn back to his earlier conversation with Sylvain, specifically to the comment his partner had made regarding their current residence. ‘It was just starting to feel like home,’ he’d said. And it was that particular sentence that poked and prodded at him like a pebble in the shoe.

'Home'...'home'...why did that word seem so significant? Was he subconsciously homesick? No, that was impossible. He’d never felt more at home than he did now, in Sylvain’s grasp. Linhardt glanced down at the other man, who was nearly fast asleep on top of him. A spark lit in his mind, faint but striking, as though he’d unintentionally made a connection that was lost before it could be identified. Sylvain and ‘home’...he worked to force the two words together like two pieces of a puzzle that refused to fit. Sylvain. ‘Home.’

Linhardt’s eyes slowly wided with the onset of realization. He sat bolt-upright, Sylvain slipping away from him with widened eyes of his own. Linhardt ignored him, scrambling for the pages and texts that still lay strewn toward the foot of the bed. He shuffled them hurriedly in search of a specific map while Sylvain, somewhat dazed after having been ripped from the arms of sleep, slowly sat up behind him.

“Seriously?” He whined. “You’re already back at it?”

“Something just occurred to me,” Linhardt said curtly, finding the item he desired and splaying it open. Sylvain waited to be given more information, but he received only silence as the younger man was quickly swallowed by his own thoughts.

“Care to elaborate?” Sylvain asked, scooting closer to Linhardt until their shoulders touched. Still, Linhardt said nothing, as he appeared to be measuring the distance between two points on the map.

“You once shared a theory with me,” he finally said, though his eyes remained fixed on his work, “a theory regarding the current state of your family’s territory. Do you remember that?”

“Yeah, I remember,” Sylvain answered with a hint of reservation. “Why?”

“Are you still committed to that theory?”

“Are you kidding? That was months ago, I’d say the likelihood of it being seized by the Empire has only increased since then.”

“But can you say with complete surety that it has, without a doubt, been conquered?”

Sensing the path of Linhardt’s thoughts, Sylvain furrowed his brow. “Lin, you of all people should understand that odds are against–”

“Since when do you care about odds?” Lindhardt retorted, meeting Sylvain’s eyes. There was turbulence in their blue depths, the likes of which Sylvain had only witnessed a handful of times before. “I need you to tell me if you think there’s a chance—regardless of how slim it may be—that your house still stands; not if your family still retains power, and not if the Empire hasn’t laid claim to it, but if your home remains physically intact.”

Sylvain held his gaze with quiet contemplation. “Yes, I guess it’s possible.”

Linhardt, appearing much too pleased with the response, turned back to the map.

“I feel like I know what you’re plotting, but I wish you’d tell me anyway.” Sylvain pressed, sounding almost mopey.

“You say that like you’re going to object,” Linhardt replied, but he did not withhold his thoughts. “I think it would be in our best interest to visit your territory before heading to Adrestia.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Sylvain sighed. “I don’t suppose you’d be willing to share the logic behind this idea of yours?”

“I told you earlier, but I’ll speak more frankly this time; we’re broke,” Linhardt began, looking at Sylvain again. “If there’s even a minimal chance that we might be able to retrieve any gold or valuables from your home, then I think it’s worth a shot. We literally can’t afford to ignore such an opportunity.”

Sylvain pursed his lips, glancing between Linhardt and the map where one of the mage’s fingers rested firmly upon the word ‘Gautier’ printed in bold, extravagant font. “On the off chance that the Empire hasn’t invaded my home already, I highly doubt that my family would be willing to fund our little campaign.”

“Then we’ll steal what we need,” Linhardt said, unfazed. Sylvain almost sputtered at the deadpan manner in which the suggestion was made.

“You want to rob my house?”

“Only if we’re left with no other option,” Linhardt responded, tilting his head slightly. “You don’t seem as open to the idea as I thought you’d be.”

“Believe me, I wouldn’t lose any sleep over relieving my father of a couple thousand bullion,” Sylvain said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’m just imagining his reaction if he were to find out. Or worse; if he caught us.”

“I find that in these situations it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than it is to ask for permission,” Linhardt assured him.

“What, you’ve done this before?”

“Only to my own family,” Linhardt said with an indifferent shrug, “and back at the academy when I’d sneak into the Holy Tomb for research.”

Sylvain looked at him in a mix of shock and awe. “Linhardt,” he said with gratuitous surprise, “you’re turning out to be quite the rebel.”

“As if my being a fugitive wasn’t rebellious enough, it’s my history of thievery that impresses you,” Linhardt teased with a reserved grin. “Anyway, you’re operating under the assumption that your family is still in power when we both know that probably isn’t the case.”

Sylvain’s expression turned solemn.

“You said that yours was one of the few houses to openly oppose Imperial rule. Tell me, were they actively advocating for rebellion, or were they just acting as a scion of the former Kingdom?”

“We weren’t financing or supplying coups if that’s what you’re asking,” Sylvain answered, a bit perplexed by the question. “The only real action we ever took was my deployment to House Fraldarius.”

“I see. I assume that after House Fraldarius fell and you didn’t return, your father might have been a bit more tolerant of any demands that the Empire might have had. Is that a fair assumption?”

“Hard to say. My father is nothing if not bullheaded.”

Linhardt nodded, rubbing his collarbone thoughtfully. “...I really think that the benefits outweigh the risks,” he said decidedly. “It’s not as though we’ll have lost anything if the effort proves fruitless. We’re not under any sort of time-constraint. However...I understand if you’re unwilling to go back. I know it may mean confronting unpleasant memories, or that it may be difficult for you to see your home under Imperial occupation.” He reached for Sylvain’s hand and gave it a sympathetic squeeze. “The choice is yours.”

Sylvain breathed deeply, eyes falling to the map spread out in front of them and resting once again on his surname. In all honesty, he had no desire to go back. His life was not there anymore; his life was sitting beside him, grasping his hand and gazing at him with soft, loving eyes. There was nothing left for him there. Nevertheless, Linhardt’s reasoning was undeniably sound. If he had to endure a bit of unpleasantness to see their goals through, then so be it. Heavens knew Linhardt was doing the same for him.

“I think you’re right,” he submitted. “There’s a lot to be gained and nothing to be lost, so it would be kinda stupid not to give it a shot, right?”

“You’re certain?” Linhardt asked cautiously.

“I am. However,” he continued, more gravely, “if we get there and the place is crawling with Imperial troops, promise me that we’ll turn around and forget about the whole thing.”

“You think I’m looking for a confrontation?” Linhardt said, raising an eyebrow. “Of course we’ll leave if there’s any chance of conflict.”

Satisfied, Sylvain kissed Linhardt’s knuckle to mark the end of the discussion.

Linhardt looked as though a massive weight had been lifted from him, and he allowed himself to slump against Sylvain’s body. “Finally, we have at least the beginning of a plan. It certainly took long enough.”

“Will you please let yourself rest now?” Sylvain pleaded, and Linhardt nodded against him as the aftereffects of their earlier activities began to set in.

Sylvain laid him down gently, covering him with a sheet up to his chin. When his partner was safely tucked away, Sylvain took it upon himself to clear the bed of the clutter that Linhardt had compiled. He was careful to maintain some quality of organization as he transferred the materials to the desk, ensuring that he didn’t mix history books with almanacs or almanacs with spellbooks. At last, the only thing that remained was the map that Linhardt had opened. Sylvain picked it up, preparing to refold it, but hesitated as he stared at the word ‘Gautier’ for the third time that night.

 _I doubt that name will be present on future maps_ , he thought, not sure if the idea brought him horror or satisfaction. While the physical erasure of his existence was unsettling, he was grossly pleased by the idea of his family’s legacy being stripped away. Maybe the Goddess wasn’t such a wretched being. Maybe this punishment had been a long time coming. Maybe Edelgard, for all her hatred of the Goddess and her Church, was nothing more than a tool of divine retribution upon the people of Fódlan.

Or maybe it was all horseshit. Either way, he supposed he owed Edelgard for her role in ridding the Gautier name of its undeserved glory. He’d have to thank her before he jabbed his lance through her heart.

He creased the map and tossed it on the desk before stepping out of his trousers and sinking into bed beside Linhardt. To no surprise, the Adrestian had already passed out, but Sylvain wove his arms around him anyway. He pulled him against his chest, exhaling contentedly as the heat from his own body blended with the coolness of Linhardt’s.

“It’s weird, but part of me kinda hopes that you’ll get to meet my parents,” he murmured to his sleeping companion. “It’s such a natural step for couples, y’know? I think it’d be nice to have that small bit of normalcy, and I think you’d get along well with my mother. I can’t say the same for my father, but he’s a lost cause if you ask me. He wouldn’t be happy to see me with anyone that he didn’t hand-pick himself.” He chuckled, a dry and quiet sound that held a hint of bitterness. “Guess it doesn’t matter, though. I don’t think we’ll see either of them long enough to hear their opinions, if we see them at all.”

He kissed the top of Linhardt’s head, nuzzling him afterward.

“I love you,” he whispered. “So much, Lin. Families, nobility, Goddess, and Empire be damned, I swear that I’ll marry you before all is said and done. If I can’t give you anything else, then let me at least promise you that much.”

Somehow he was confident that his words had penetrated the barrier of sleep and that Linhardt had heard his declaration with complete and perfect clarity, and his reassurance in that fact only grew as he felt Linhardt’s lips twitch against him in what very well could have been a small, fleeting smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's finally here ;;
> 
> thank you for being patient with me while i worked on this chapter, the next several parts should come a little quicker since i have a very clear path in mind.
> 
> thank you so much for reading and for your support!!
> 
> twitter: @alter_altar  
> cc: alter_altar


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